Need You Now
by BuryTheHatchet
Summary: They are on opposite sides of the world, but their minds still focus on the other. TIVA - sort of. I mean, technically, it is…There is just none of the fluff. Sorry. There needs to be a new genre of 'Completely and utterly heartbreakingly depressing'. They should also have a 'Pure fluff' genre.
**This was written in the same sort of style as 'Another Man, Another Woman, The Same Dance' but a different story line. This is after the fatal day where he left her in Israel. You really just have to read it. (Read 'Another Man, Another Woman, The Same Dance' too, if you have the time and you have not already read it. That one is slightly happier. Slightly.)**

 **Tell me if it does not make sense, I might be able to explain it some, but that is not a certainty. Just ask if you do not know.**

 **I cried when I wrote this, but I do not know how it reads. I would be interested in seeing who else cries at this – maybe it is just me.**

 **Although, I have noticed that I cry at things that I write when I am writing them, but if I go back and read them a week later I do not get as emotional.**

 **Maybe I am just a freak.**

 **Oh, I wrote this whilst listening to 'Need You Now' by Lady Antebellum. Hence the title.**

Need You Now

He stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on his table. It never helped.

She stared at the photos of all of them. Abby. McGee. Gibbs. _Him_.

He still thought of her. More so when drunk.

She tried not to think about him, but without the memories she was empty.

His finger hovered over the dial button.

Her finger hovered over the dial button.

She wouldn't pick up. She had a new life.

He wouldn't pick up. He was probably in bed with some barely legal skirt.

His phone flew across the table, removing the temptation.

She hit the button next to the dial button. Killed the phone.

He had done as she asked. He'd left her there.

It was the hardest decision she had ever made, to tell him to leave her.

Why hadn't she come home with him?

She was alone now.

He was lonely.

She could just call, just to hear his voice.

He looked at the black and white framed photo of her and her smile.

She knocked back the last of her whiskey, wishing it burnt in the same way it had the first time.

He screwed the cap on the whiskey, placing it on the table and leaving it for the morning.

She pressed her lips to her fingers and then pressed her fingers against the image of him that sat on her bedside cabinet.

He pressed a kiss to the picture of her that sat on top of his piano.

She bid him goodnight.

He told her to sleep tight. And not to let the bedbugs bite.

She dreamt of being home, safe, with her family in America.

He dreamt of having her by his side, for eternity.

She woke frequently from nightmares.

He denied the nightmares when asked, but they still woke him.

When the sun rose she wondered whether she had been on his mind as much as he had been on hers.

When he finally gave up on sleep, he considered the idea that she might miss him.

She laughed at how pathetic she was.

He quashed the idea immediately.

She checked her phone. Maybe he had texted.

He checked his phone. Maybe she had called.

You have 0 new texts.

No new messages.

Alone.

Lonely.

She let herself cry as she showered, the water hiding her tears.

He cut his finger on the broken glass from last night, watched as the blood ran along his finger and fell to the table.

She pushed herself, ran further than she had the day before, and the day before, and the day before that too.

He ran the route she used to take. He did it naturally now.

She would finish her run at the dance studio.

He would finish his run at the NCIS gym.

She would work on a new routine.

He would follow her old routine.

She danced.

He fought.

She remembered the way his body felt against hers when they danced.

He remembered the way she had trained him to punch more accurately, with more strength.

She wouldn't stop all day, her focus in dancing a new dance with his ghost.

He would stop, but only to catch the bad guys, take his anger out on them instead of an inanimate punching bag.

She would go to her apartment and put his favourite film on whilst eating his favourite pizza.

He would go home and read her favourite book whilst listening to the music from her favourite opera.

She would tell him about her day.

He would tell her he loved her.

Her heart would shatter when she looked across to his end of the sofa and realised he wasn't there.

He would start to sob when all that replied was silence.

Shmeil would find her curled in a ball on the floor.

Abby and Gibbs would find him staring into nothingness.

She would be screaming in an anguished panic.

He would be empty.

Her emotions were to much for her.

He couldn't feel anything anymore.

She wanted to go back to the stony, cold-hearted killer.

He wanted to be able to feel her soft, warm body pressed against him.

She wanted to feel no more pain.

He wanted the pain, because the pain meant he was alive.

Feeling no more pain would mean he was with her again, by her side.

Feeling anything was better than feeling nothing. It meant she was by his side, slapping his hand away or pinching his arm.

She needed him.

He needed her.

And he was on the opposite side of the world.

And she was never coming home.

 **For my reference: 24** **th** **NCIS fic.**


End file.
